


Night Terrors

by CrystalNinjaPhoenix



Series: Crystal's Septic Fic Universe [2]
Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Nightmare, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalNinjaPhoenix/pseuds/CrystalNinjaPhoenix
Summary: Marvin has a nightmare...again. It's one he's had many times before, possibly because it's part based in memories of his mistakes.
Series: Crystal's Septic Fic Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842199
Kudos: 9





	Night Terrors

It always started the same.

He was on stage, at his final performance. At the time, he was at the height of his career, the venue was grand and every seat was sold out. Everyone always said his magic was incredible. Even the most stubborn critics, the ones who sought to figure out how every trick was done, said that it looked real. It was.

His study in magic had started with the normal kind: slight of hand, card tricks, and rings designed to link together easily. He’d been terrible. But also determined and driven. He was going to be the best magician, one that blew audiences’ minds on a regular basis. When he found the website for the first time, he hadn’t really believed any of the spells would work, but he memorized the words anyway, thinking they could add some mystery to his mundane tricks. The first time he spoke the spell out loud, a puff of yellow-green smoke had appeared. He’d been confused. How had he managed to do it? But soon, he saw the possibilities extending before him.

It wasn’t long before people took notice of the cat-masked man whose dazzling tricks awed any who saw them. He preformed bigger and bigger shows, for more and more people. But he knew that he had to keep upping the ante for every production. He learned more and more spells—not only the flashy kind to entertain others, but also those to attack and defend, those to transform and teleport, those to conjure and change objects.

The first time he came across one of the more dangerous spells, he barely hesitated. He read through the warnings and followed the instructions very carefully, and nothing happened. Maybe it would’ve been better if something did. Maybe he would’ve been more cautious about playing about with that kind of magic. As it was, he went far too deep into the darkness without any realization of what it would mean.

But he still noticed the consequences. Small things, mostly. Pounding headaches. Random chills. Some days he was consumed with exhaustion. He lost track of time, thinking it was Saturday when it was really Tuesday, or setting out for a morning errand and finding it was actually night. He became snappish and irritable, isolating himself and not interacting with others unless absolutely necessary. Then the day after one of those episodes, he was filled with a strange energy, acting on impulse with absolutely no mental filter, jabbering away with all his colleagues. And, occasionally, voices would invade his mind, whispering in languages best left forgotten. But he couldn’t see these problems as interfering too much with his life. He thought he could handle it.

Until that final show. The largest and grandest venue, the biggest and loudest crowd. Of course shit would hit the fan on that day in particular.

It started out well enough. The first trick went by without incident, and the crowd “oohed” and “ahhed” in all the places. But then, the voices came.

_…di tenebra cuerdis toi…_

_…huus voluisti nen…_

Quiet at first. Easy to ignore. With a shake of his head, he continued.

_**…delaebo omemn…** _

_**…imnirapa int ilude…** _

But they grew and grew and grew. He began missing words in his script, confusing which gestures went with which spells, even stumbling while walking across the stage. 

Instead of being worried, he was angry. Why, _why_ did this have to happen now!? He was in the middle of a performance, and these words were driving into his head like a persistent hammer banging on a six-inch nail. And all these people were watching him, they were just waiting for him to mess up weren’t they, he could feel their eyes, he could feel the heat from the lights above and when he looked up the lights were eyes too—

A spell went farther than he intended, bright green and purple lights covering the first ten rows of the audience, who gasped at the chill it caused. He felt a wicked sort of joy at that. More spells went out over the people. They screamed, more in terror than pain. They realized this wasn’t supposed to happen, and it scared them.

_**…igna di tenabros…** _

_**…virtas sit tu a mazimm…** _

_**…occ idre eos…** _

_**…OCC IDRE EOS!** _

They were all coming for him. He could see them, their bodies made of dancing light. He was chanting with the voices in his head. He wanted to do this. He wanted to hurt them. 

People screamed in pain as they tried to flee. He didn’t care. They were burned by the fire, blood spilled by shards of magic, and crushed by the falling roof above. But they rose again as monsters, and they came for him with twisted faces and bodies. He cast spell after spell, more people died and came back in a vicious cycle, and the roof above them collapsed and the stage fell into fire—

Marvin always woke up at that point.

Nobody had died at the actual show, but his nightmares wouldn’t let him forget that they could have. In reality, a few brave stagehands had stopped him, with the aid of a couple security officers. Most had been burned by his fire, one had been cut by whirling blades of magic, and they all had to stay for a while in the hospital, but no deaths.

Marvin hadn’t exactly been in the best state of mind at that point. He remembered shouting the spell words, mixed with random angry rants or growled threats, and trying his best to get one more big spell out. It had probably been for the best that one of the security officers had finally managed to knock him to the ground, where he’d proceeded to hit his head way too hard against the edge of the stage. He’d woken up in a hospital room, completely out of energy, with some German doctor taking notes about his condition.

It was a miracle Marvin hadn’t been taken in for some kind of psychiatric session. The doctor managed to talk the hospital out of it, but he insisted on hanging around the magician in a semi-official capacity, just to keep an eye on him. Marvin didn’t mind. He was kinda cool.

Still, even if he wasn’t officially declared insane, people began to think of him as “that crazy magician.” No one wanted to hire him for a venue, or even for a “normal” job. Marvin got away with performing at small places that might’ve been just a bit too shady. But he was left without a regular income. Though he had savings tucked away that could’ve lasted him a long while, he sold his house, tired of the funny looks the neighbors were giving him.

Marvin never told anyone about what really happened. Even when he and Schneep eventually became friends, even when he met Jack, Chase, Jackie, and JJ, he kept quiet. All he’d told them was the incident at the show happened because of black magic. He never specified that it was because he was the one using it. Partly, he was afraid what they’d think of him. He could imagine their faces: scared, furious, betrayed. Partly, he didn’t want to let them down. He was supposed to be the magical expert of the group, and if they found out he made such a stupid mistake…well, he didn’t even want to think about it.

But mostly, he was afraid—paralyzed—of losing control. Of having his mind and magic being lost to him, of being unable to choose. And did he even have the right to be scared of that? Considering what the others went through, his troubles seemed minor in comparison. So Marvin kept silent, using magic cautiously, only breaking out the more dangerous spells when his life depended on it. Maybe one day, the effects of the black magic would wear off.

But until then, he would wake up every night, terrified of his own dark dreams.


End file.
